Memories of Beach

I spent an afternoon on the beach at Selea as the boys surfed the sunset.  They paddled toward the bright orange shine coming through the clouds, as if paddling to meet heaven.  Dark clouds shedding lightning and rain approached from the North.  I played with the dogs and collected shells and enjoyed the steady coming of the waves.  As we headed back to the car, the sky fell dark, and the rain fell hard.  Drenched and smiling, I enjoyed the invigorating high left by a dramatic sunset and even more dramatic storm.

Selea treasures.

I spent an afternoon playing mermaids with Sassy.  She took me to where she collects shells at the low tide.  With masks and mesh bags, we plundered the peaceful pools. We giggled and joked and admired.  She introduced me to the puffer fish, a bright blue color, that lives there.  She showed me how to tear an oyster from it’s rock.  She warned me not to take inhabited shells, that the hermit sometimes snaps.

Shells collected.  A tooth shed.

A few former clams.

I spent an afternoon on the beach with Celia Cruz.  I played guitar and wrote in my journal and tanned my buns.  She chewed on palm leaves and coco husks.  She explored and sniffed and dug up crabs.  She chased an innocent horse passing by.  Just another beautiful day in paradise.

Celia Cruz, the sweetest thing I know.

 

I wrote this about my summer job, for anyone who is interested in what I actually got paid to do!

Costa Rican Conservation Network's Blog

It has been an amazing adventure working with ARCAE this summer!  For a day on the job, I headed out on the 5am bus from the small town of Punta Banco, on the southern Pacific coast of Costa Rica, right across from the tip of the Osa Peninsula, at the mouth of the Golfo Dulce.  The old yellow school bus bumped along, winding along the coast to where I meet the small-town fisherman with an impressive conservation ethic.  William Mata promotes responsible fishing and ecotourism alternatives to reduce catch in the local community.

I helped William push his fishing boat down the beach and out into the Pacific.  With GPS unit, a thermometer, and a notebook we headed out to systematically survey study areas located along the coast at Punta Banco and in the center of the mouth of the Golfo Dulce.  We chatted and fished on our way to…

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One Pacific

I’m finally back where I’m from.  It took two days of sitting on buses and planes to get here.  Two exhausting days of goodbye and reflection and taking deep breaths.  I come back a little bronze and a little blonde.  I come back with my first surf rash, which I wear proudly, and likely some parasites, which I will try to get rid of.  Most importantly I come back missing my ocean, the Pacific.  I lay in bed in San Jose before flying out, with complete silence, only broken by the ticking of a clock.  The silence hurt, and I realized, I had been listening to the ocean for three months.  Where I couldn’t hear the ocean, the sound of a waterfall or a river was flowing.  When the weather rolled in, it was the sound of water pouring from the sky and smacking the roofs and leaves and puddles, together with the earth shaking thunder.  Where I couldn’t hear water, there were the sqwacking Scarlet Macaws or surreal Howler monkeys or squealing monos chichi or the sound of the the bugs, so many bugs!

After arriving in San Francisco after midnight, to my father holding flowers and chocolate and a yum lamb chop, and then to my mother’s hug and my Lucy dog’s enthusiasm, it began to sink in.  I’m really here.  I really left paradise.  But leaving the beach town doesn’t mean leaving the soul quenching ocean that kept me balanced all summer. I ran the two miles through Golden Gate Park to Ocean Beach this morning.  I threw off my shoes and clothes down to my bikini bottoms and sports bra, and ran in.  I laughed and teared up and felt rejuvenated.  Now there are two sands in my shoes, the California and Costa Rica rocks pummeled by the same waters and now mixing in my socks.  There are two salts between my earrings and lobes, the tropical and the cold-water grains sticking to my skin in that spot I never quite get clean.  And although I love this city, my heart is still in Punta Banco.  But getting smacked in the face with the surf reminds me of how beautiful my life is, and I’ll transition, poco a poco [little by little].

I’ll miss rolling out of bed for coffee on the deck.

I’ll miss my new friends, Luna the little black pig and Celia Cruz.

I’ll miss paddling out with the silly dutchman.

But it is nice to flush my toilet paper, to not need a flashlight to check for deadly vipers, to have access to amazing chocolate, and to be with my family.  After returning from the ocean this morning, I felt the best water pressure I’ve felt in three months.  Ice cold pounding shower cleaned me deeply.  And on the third floor!!  Modern plumbing amazes me.

There are many stories I have yet to tell.  This blog is not quite over.  I’ll keep telling stories as I reflect and remember and go through photos.  But for now, it is time to hug my friends and transition out of pura vida.

Patrulla [the patrol]

Bright blue moon.

 

We set out just after 11PM.  The coast guard decided it would be good to come, and we coordinated, and they set out with their huge rifles, and we set out with our gloves and tags.

We walked quietly, flashlights low, scanning for the telling tracks.  It looks as if a small tractor, or an ATV, drove straight into the ocean.  But it is really the trail of a lady turtle, shoving sand with her flippers, making her way up the beach.

Turtle tracks.

 

We see her seated on her nest, just a few meters up the beach.  We turn off the lights, and we wait.  We approach carefully, but she is not scared.  She is focused and laboring to lay her eggs.  On her long front flipper, I feel for the skin between her toes, and click, tagged.  With a big pair of pliers I have labeled her as a local.

Lora, la tortuga.

When she is finished, she fills her nest hole back up, pats it down, spreads out the sand around it, and quickly disappears back into the surf.  And then our lights come back on, and our digging begins.  I carefully place NINETY TWO little eggs, the size and shape of ping pong balls, into a bag.  That is NINETY TWO little baby turtles in the making.  And hopefully, NINETY TWO that will not be eaten by the locals with salsa in a shot glass.

We take them from where she laid them.  We hike down the beach, somewhere no one would expect, and we turn off our lights.  Jose digs a nest, and places them in, and covers them up, and camouflages the area, and we continue patrolling, turning on our lights.  The eggs are hidden.  We have done the best we can.  Maybe in a couple months, we will have NINETY TWO little tortuguitos climbing out of the hole and making it to sea.

NINETY TWO!! and thats not even a lot.  Blows my mind.

 

Signs of life

I am usually pretty tolerant of the animals that share my house, but one really spooked me when I was drying dishes… NO ME GUSTA!!! (me no likey!!!)

Unwelcome visitor.

Gross. Shivers. No warm fuzzy feelings at all.

Usually, even with ugly or venomous or creepy critters, I have at least a sense of awe and appreciation.  Nothing.  And then!

 

He left evidence.

The snake that visited was a very poor house guest.  He never introduced himself, and shed in my kitchen!

But there have also been pretty creatures around as well…

A morning stroll with the chicks, central Punta Banco.

King of the jungle, or at least my back yard.